The Hexagon
by Darkling Princess
Summary: Alauna is a princess, Clary is an artist, they both want to follow their dreams of becoming a renowned artist and performer. But Alauna's father develops an unhealthy obsession with her, and Clary's father wants to arrange a marriage for her with a mysterious man. They barely remember each other from childhood. What happens when their paths cross again in the most unusual of ways?
1. The start

I awake to a nudge in my sore back. I stayed up late last night adding the finishing touches to a painting I made for an art exhibition/contest hosted by my school. I'm utterly exhausted, and the last thing I want to do go to school to submit my artwork. URGH! It's an off day I should be allowed to sleep in!

"What?" I mumble from beneath my pillow my words barely legible.

"Do you still want to go to school? You told me to wake you up." A voice asks.

I roll over and open my eyes to see my father fully dressed carrying a satchel undoubtedly filled with more books for his decently sized bookstore, which he runs in the heart of the town. Weird. Usually his bookstore would be closed on the weekends.

"Want and must are two very different terms, so-no I do not want to go to school but I must, because I want to when this amateur art competition" I correct him "But" I add softly with a small smile"I do appreciate you waking me up"

"Your welcome" He says rolling his eyes "I know how distracted you can get if you spot one of your friends, so be back by three, there's someone I'd like for you to meet." He adds.

"Okay" I reply. As he turns away I add "By the way where are you going, isn't your store closed today?"

He lets out a sigh. I can't see his face, but I can tell he wanted to avoid this question, which only increases my curiosity.

"I'm just going to meet a friend" he states. Before I can inquire further, he leans down pecks me on the cheek and quickly bids me goodbye, leaving the room in an uncharacteristic hurry. Huh.

I climb out of bed quickly and check the time on a clock on my bedroom wall, the wall covered in my drawings of my father and I, some of my best friend Isabelle and her siblings Max, Alec, and her adopted brother Jace. Some paintings of Isabelle and I, and even a few of her individual siblings hang on the walls. The clock reads 10:43. How could I have slept in so long!

I throw the bedspread off of me and frantically climb out of my large canopy bed. Registration for the contest ends at 11:30am, and my art teacher, Jasmine Farley, is coming to pick me up at 11:00. Luckily I bathed last night so I won't need to this morning, I throw on a green gathered A-line skirt that reaches my ankles with nude pantyhose, a black button-up blouse, and brown lace-up booties. I have never been one to dress up unnecessarily...unless I am going to a social event with Isabelle, then I have no choice. I cautiously dab a corner of the painting to see if it's dry, it passes the test. Next I dab the area with the most amount of paint, and the cloth comes away clean. I quickly and carefully put the painting in my portfolio, and sprint downstairs. I grab an apple from our fruit bowl, and rush outside as a small automobile pull up outside our house, I recognize it as Ms. Farley's. I hurriedly lock the door, and run up to the car.

* * *

 **A/N There you have it...a short, short, short, extremely short chapter. I just really wanted to publish, and I was impatient. This is my first fanfiction, and I am overly welcoming to criticism. Please read and leave a comment. I have a whole half of a long plot ready and...unwritten. This was just a way for me to dip my toe in the water. I will introduce Alauna in the next chapter, which is hopefully longer. Stay tuned for the next chapter (I an a procrastinator and a slow typer so that'll come out...next year. JK!) and thank you for reading!**

 **-Darkling Princess**

 **(P.S If you got my profile name and picture PM me ;))**


	2. Marriage

**Hi again!**

 **I'm sorry the last chapter was so short and boring, but as I said I was impatient. This chapter is much longer, and a lot better than the first. I took the time to do my best, and I hope you enjoy it!**

 **-Darkling Princess**

* * *

 **Alauna's Perspective**

* * *

I awaken to a heavy feeling on my chest, a feeling of dread.

At first I am confused. Until all my memories from the past few weeks come rushing back to me in sharp sudden bursts. My mother's death, her burial ceremony, my father's mental absence, my mother's preposterous final request. Then I immediately wish I was still sleeping, because today is my mother's birthday.

I drag myself from beneath the covers of my gargantuan four poster bed into the adjoining lavatory. I heat a tub of water, and toss in a few bath salts and roses from the bowls around the tub. Soon the entire room is filled with relaxing fragrances. My mother first introduced me to this way of luxurious bathing, when I was young and hated taking baths. I undress, and slowly lower myself into the tub. Gradually relaxing at the water's warm touch. Rubbing my thumb along the soft surface of the rose petal, I think about my mother's past, her story.

My mother was basically the pride of the kingdom, she was a fairytale come to life. Born into poverty no one ever believed she would amount to anything, until she began painting. People said her paintings were so beautiful and realistic it seemed as if you were actually seeing the scene for yourself. She sold paintings for hundreds of pecuns a piece. **A/N I didn't know how to incorporate this into the story so pecuns are their currency, it works the same as an American dollar. Dollars are Pecuns, and cents are Aesen.** People from across the land came to buy or simply see her paintings. Hundreds came to get their portrait painted by her. The king of Idris at that time was King Gabriel II. He was a kind, but firm king, loved by his citizens, but his son had yet to find a wife, so he sent his son to have a portrait painted of him by my mother Julianna, partly because of her reputation for skill, but mostly because of her rumored beauty. She was said to be five times as beautiful as her paintings, and the king believed that she might make a suitable wife for his son especially with her newfound wealth. Soon after the prince's appointment with Julianna a marriage was arranged, and after a bit I came into existence.

I think about what a pleasant childhood I had with my parents. Although it was a unique one with private tutors, sessions on etiquette, and many, MANY lessons on the kingdom's history, law, and politics, it was a sweet childhood. I became best friends with the Captain of the Guard's daughter at a very young age,and my parents took the time to raise me and didn't neglect me like many royals did their children. Not to mention I was allowed to learn things other princesses would never be allowed to. Such as sailing, sparing, archery, performing arts, and equestrianism. My mother's only condition was that I take lessons in art and beauty. She loved art... A knock on my door jerks me from my thoughts.

"I'm bathing" I call out "What is your reason for disturbing me?"

"Your majesty?" An exaggerated artificially low voice asks timidly.

"Yes?" I say with a smile. I recognize that voice immediately.

"I'm simply an old servant" The falsely masculine voice rasps out "And I just wanted to know if those rumors were true."

"What rumors?" I ask confused and slightly apprehensive as to where this is going.

"The rumors that state that you have a wraparound bellybutton your majesty" The voice states.

An involuntary laugh bursts from my mouth, at how random and totally irrelevant this conversation is. But I know my friend, who is apparently pretending to be a servant, is just trying to cheer me up. I decide to play along. "Yes, I suppose those rumors are in fact true, but please oh please don't tell anyone!" I exclaim melodramatically, as I climb out of the bathtub and dry off.

"I must say this is very valuable information I have in my possession, but I won't reveal your secret, if you allow me to gift you with one of my exquisite makeovers your grace." The voice responds.

"Why would you give me a makeover? I have nowhere to be." I question perplexed.

"Oh they haven't told you?" The voice asks surprised. "Well the King, your father, is hosting a ball tonight. Something about an important announcement..."

I tug on a pair of flowing red pants with a purple top with a ruby bodice and flowing sleeves that are tapered at the end, and I frown in puzzlement. I don't understand why no one had informed me of this. Now fully dressed I exit the powder room to see my best friend Malaya lying on her stomach on my bed propped up on her elbows. Her deep blue gown surrounding her like a vast ocean. She has her kinky hair styled into an elegant bun, with a few delicate curls strategically hanging, framing her face perfectly. She looks beautiful, and no doubt would capture the attention of several different gentlemen's eyes at this ball we are supposedly having. She looks up at me with her bold blue eyes filled with concern.

"How are you doing?" she inquires kindly, her phony male impersonation forgotten.

"I'm healing" I reply quietly after a pause. She nods.

"Well" she begins. "You said I can give you a makeover, and the ball starts in three hours, therefore we have an hour and a half to kill before we need to get ready and head down to the ballroom."

"Woah!" I exclaim. "Firstly, you need an _hour and a half_ to get ready? Secondly, I said no such thing."

She gives me a look that says 'Do you really want to fight about this?'

"Okay fine." I sigh. "Let's go to the stables, I haven't seen Buttercup in days." At the word stables Malaya wrinkles her nose and groans, she abhors the musty, foul smelling atmosphere, but I ignore her because I love it. I love the horses, who all know me, and the tons of equipment simply waiting to be used gets me eager to ride. Most of all I love my thoroughbred, buttercup. She's been with me since childhood, and we have such an unbreakable mutual connection, that she is said to have been agitated, during my period of morning. I also haven't seen her since my mother died, so I miss her.

"Okay let's go and visit _Buttercup_ " She says resignedly attempting a horrible impression of me. And so we head outside.

* * *

 **Clary's Perspective**

* * *

"Okay" Ms. Farlow breathes out. "You are now signed up, just remember to bring an easel to display your work, and a few props of your choice if desired."

I glance at the clock It reads 2:30, I remember my father wanted me home by three-o-clock to meet someone, so I lightly tap Ms. Farlow's shoulder, who is at the moment stooped over a piece of paper writing relentlessly. She looks up at me as though she had nearly forgotten I was here.

"Would you care to take me home now, my father told me to be home by three." I ask hesitantly. We have been here for hours. When we first arrived my friend Alec spotted me and asked me if I was entering the art contest. I replied that I was, and he led me to the queue, which was unbelievably long. Apparently children from other schools were allowed to register, so he stood in line with me and we passed the time talking about Isabelle, and how she's finally reopening her clothing store, which had been closed because of snow, and how she's partnering with someone to make a French inspired clothing line. And about my father's bookstore and other light topics. By the time we reached the end of the line two entire hours had passed, and supposedly this was a serious competition, so it took at least 30-minutes to fill out the forms. That combined with the fact they brought in lunch trays leaves me where I am.

"Of course" She answers, as she gathers papers from her desk and shoves them haphazardly in her bag. Her dread locks falling around her face like a curtain. "I apologize for detaining you."

"No, please, it's not your fault." I protest. She gives me a small smile and turns to leave. As she leaves the room a darting figure runs directly into her knocking her to the ground. The kid and I rush to her aid, helping her up off of the ground. "Are you alright?" I ask her worriedly.

"Yes darling I'm fine" she assures me. I look up to see who had run into to find it's a student that I don't recognize. It's a boy who's much taller than my short stature and is honestly quite...unique looking. He has pale white skin, and a muscular build, dark eyes to the point you can barely decipher the iris from the pupil, he has short slicked back off-white hair. But the most disturbing thing about him is the emotions behind his eyes, while the rest of his body shows confidence and normalcy, his eyes show dark, ominous places, place I never want to go. We lock eyes for longer than I'm necessarily comfortable with and something shifts in his expression, although I can't seem to identify what exactly. After about eight seconds I take an involuntary step back. I need to stay far-far away from this boy, he gives me a bad feeling. I turn to Ms. Farlow to see her eyeing him warily. She steps in-between us.

"Clary I don't believe you've met the new student." She plasters a fake smile across her face, and motions towards the white-haired boy and introduces us. "Clary this is Sebastian Verlac, and Sebastian this is Clary Fray." He reaches out his hand and smiles, although his grin doesn't quite reach his eyes. After a beat I follow the suit, and shake his hand. He gives me an invasive once-over and smirks, as if he knows something I don't.

"Nice to meet you _Clarissa_." He drawls. There is something very wrong with this exchange, besides the fact that Sebastian is an absolute creep, and I can't put my finger on it until he begins sauntering away.

No one said my name was Clarissa.

0o0o0o0o0o

I burst into the house. We barely arrived in time after our encounter with Sebastian. I immediately check the time 2:57. I breathe a sigh of relief, and collapse onto the couch to wait for my father. At exactly 3:00 I hear footsteps entering the house and hushed voices, and stand up to greet the guest. After a pause my father enters the room alone.

"Clary" He gestures towards the sofa. "Sit down dear." I frown and take a seat. I was sure I heard more than one voice.

"Clarissa" He addresses me seriously. I become a bit apprehensive at the sound of my full name. "You are a lovely young woman." _Oh_ _no._ "And since the day you were born your mother and I only wanted the best for you." My mother died giving birth to me, and it's a touchy subject, so if he is bringing her into this conversation it must be serious. "I understand you wish to make a living, by making and selling artwork." He stops and breathes in. "But very few people would support a female artist, and I can't take care of you until you begin to prosper." He rushes through that final part.*I think I know where this is going. "I believe the time has come for you to begin searching for a suitable husband." He looks up to gauge my reaction. I wipe all emotions from my face to hide the outrage, anxiety, and disappointment I feel, and I look him straight in the eyes.

"I do not desire to be married father." I speak. All of my emotions coming out into those eight words, ringing out in the empty room.

"I know" He responds cautiously. "But this young man seems kind enough, and would get us out of our financial predicament, so please just meet him." I gape at him. He cannot be serious.

"You are actually considering **arranging a marriage**!" I shout at him. He sighs and signals for me to quiet down.

"Yes." He states firmly. "I'm bringing him in now, and I would appreciate it if you were a bit more polite." He exits the room, leaving me stunned on the couch. I can't totally comprehend the fact that he is attempting to pick out my husband for me. No one really does that anymore although it's perfectly legal. I smooth down my skirt, and compose myself, so I won't seem totally insane to this boy. I hear two sets of footsteps walking towards me. I turn my head to look at them, and freeze when I see who my father invited.

None other than Sebastian Verlac.

* * *

 **Alauna's Perspective**

* * *

"The Heck?" I exclaim at my horrendous reflection. Somehow Malaya had managed to force me into this monstrosity. It is a sky blue skirt resting atop layers of red chiffon, it has white lace bordering the area where the skirt meets the bodice, a strand of large purple bows draped around the entire bottom half, with random spurts of gold powder along the edges of the dress. The bodice had a sweetheart neckline with a large purple bow at the dip, red lacy off shoulder sleeves, and random spurts of gold glitter. In short it's hideous. The dress combined with Malaya's horrible makeup skills leave me looking like an over-the-top doll. Malaya stands laughing hysterically, yet I can't seem to figure out what's so funny.

"I thought you didn't care for fashion and such." I remark disdainfully.

"I don't" She retorts. "But it is quite amusing seeing your reaction, every time you see yourself in the mirror."

I roll my eyes and begin to yank off the dress. "Well, we best be preparing, we need to leave soon" I toss the ugly thing into a corner, and drag Malaya into the bathroom to put my beauty lessons to good use.

After a half-of-an-hour of applying various cosmetic products to our faces, and putting together our outfits, which were painstakingly thought-through by myself, we are ready to show-off our looks to the world. I quickly shove Malaya in front of a mirror to see her reaction. She jumps at the sight of her reflection, and then stares in the mirror for a good ten seconds. I can't help but give myself a mental pat on the back, as I take in the finished product. The bold yellow of the dress blends perfectly with her dark skin tone and at the same time brings out her startlingly blue eyes. The dress is strapless with a layered chiffon skirt, and a sparkling 3-inch rhinestone belt. Her thick shoulder-length dark brown hair is pinned back at the lower part of her skull, and parted down the side. Her makeup is a simple black smoky-eye with deep red lipstick.

"Wow" she gasps, speechless. She glances at me. My dress is the same as hers except instead of yellow mine is a dark crimson, with an pink-red Ombre eye and pink lipstick. My hair styled into a neat afro. I grab our matching leather clutches, and turn to hand her one. I turn back to my vanity and place my tiara on my head. I reach for her hand.

"Let's go."

0o0o0o0o0o

When we arrive at the ballroom the entire crowd, upon seeing us parts, to make way for Malaya and I. We strut confidently towards my father's throne. It is customary for any member of the royal family to greet the king upon arriving at one of his balls or galas and such. My bestie and I give a polite curtsy, and I look up into my father's eyes for the first time in weeks. He trying his best to hide his emotions, but I see past his façade easily. He looks at me with adoration, pain, and something else I can't determine. On the wall above his throne is a large curtain hanging from an iron pole. I vaguely remember the wall there being bare before, but I quickly become distracted by the harmonic music of the orchestra after my father dismisses me. After a few hours of politely speaking with a few self-obsessed lords and ladies, some inconspicuous gossiping with Malaya, a bit of flirting with visiting princes, and stealthily sneaking more pastries than socially acceptable, my father rises and calls for everyone's attention. He has an expression that tells everyone he is about to make a speech, so everybody quiets down and waits for him to begin.

"As you know" He begins. "My wife, your queen has recently departed" His voice cracks. "She was, it seems the heart of the kingdom. But alas my counselors have recently informed me of what I have been dreading, it is time for me to find another wife, because this kingdom needs another queen." My heart drops in my shoes, as people begin to exchange glances. He is remarrying again so soon. He is acting as though my mother were a broken wheel on a cart, and we have to replace her immediately, or we cannot continue. That is not the case. It has literally been _weeks_ since she died. How can he be moving on so soon?

"But I simply cannot remarry and allow the memories of Julianna to be forgotten. So I had this...made." He makes a grand gesture towards the curtain on the wall, and two servants come simultaneously and yank the curtain down. I gasp. Resting on the wall is a portrait of my mother in all of her glory. Her green eyes stand out boldly on the parchment painted so no matter what angle you look at the picture from it seems she staring directly at you, her long dark curls cascading down her shoulders. Her white teeth peeking out through her full lips, her mouth slightly parted almost as if she's about to say something. She looks beautiful. Tears begin to gather at the brim of my eyes. Malaya grabs my hand and squeezes comfortingly. I give her a small smile and wipe my eyes, as my father continues.

"My wife made one final request, which I swore to honor. Her request was simple. Being the beautiful woman she was, she only wanted me to have someone who the kingdom could love-I could love half as much as we did her, so her last wish...was simply that I marry someone of her beauty." At this I bite my lip. My mother had developed a bit of self-obsession. What with her reputation and beauty. I failed to notice it at first, but after I reached a certain age I began to see through the cracks. I started to notice her obsessive beauty routines, and how she would speak to commoners in such a condescending manner. One would think that having been a peasant herself, she would have maintained some compassion. That was simply not the case. Even with her vanity I loved her just the same, my father never took notice of her narcissistic mannerisms, but that was because he was overly infatuated by her. Even when she was alive, he followed her every whim no matter the consequences. If she had said to banish all children under three years of age, he would have done it _without question._ It's sad really. My father continues his speech oblivious to my thoughts.

"I've searched the land far and wide, but have yet to find a woman, who is equal to my wife in beauty. So I have been forced to settle for my last resort...she is in the room this very moment." The crowd begins to murmur. All of the unmarried young women anxious to see, who is to be his wife. I however, simply stand in confusion. My father never "settles", he fights for exactly what he wants unrelentlessly, so whoever his "last resort" is she must be the person he originally intended to marry. I make a quick glance around the room and then I look up to my father, because I'm _very_ curious as to who my father is planning on becoming my stepmother. When I look into his eyes his expression shocks me. It's the expression that I couldn't determine from earlier, but now it's consuming his features, warping his face into that of someone unfamiliar. Someone who upon seeing I would make a mental note to stay away from. His gaze rests on me, and we lock eyes. This is no longer the man who raised me, no more I the king who took time out of his day to patiently show me how to load an arrow into a bow. I don't know the man looking back at me.

"Alauna darling, come here."

* * *

 **CLIFFHANGER!**

 **I hope liked this chapter, I apologize for any grammar mistakes, and don't worry this story will get better as it goes along. Please leave a review, and if you follow me or my story that would be AMAZING so then more people could read my fanfiction, and that's really all I want.**

 **Thank you for reading, I'll try to post every week-but like I said before...slow typer. Anyways bye!**

 **-Darkling Princess**


	3. Remain Calm

**Hello!**

 **Here you have another kind of short chapter. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. I proofed it the best I could. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 **Clary's Perspective**

* * *

"You must've been quite fond of him, you could hardly speak." My father says awkwardly to break the suffocating silence.

I say nothing.

We are sitting at the dining-room table eating a late dinner. Sebastian stayed for a while.

 _-Flashback-_

 _Sebastian plops himself down on the sofa across from me, and he gives me a smile that would probably make any other girl melt into a puddle. It just makes me sick. I force my body into the cushions, trying to insure I am as far as physically possible from him without changing position. He leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees, and he stares into my eyes. His gaze is strong, and unrelenting, and it makes me want to squirm, but instead I stare defiantly back at him. We sit like this, staring into each other's eyes for about a minute before my father deems it awkward and attempts to start a conversation._

 _"Do you two know each other?" He asks. I hear something in his voice that suggests he knows the answer, but how could he?_

 _"Yes, as a matter of fact we do." Sebastian states slowly. He pauses, as if he's contemplating what to say next. I could say something, but I'm still trying to figure out why I'm so repulsed by him. He may be a bit creepy ,yes, but other than an intrusive once-over he's done nothing to warrant this reaction. I decide to give him the benefit of doubt._

 _"Yes, we ran into each other at school...Well he actually ran into Ms. Farlow-"_

 _"I was in a rush." He interrupts. "Actually, I plan to start attending Clary's school."_

 _Strike one: Interrupting me._

 _"Wow that's-very convenient." I say as I shoot my father a look. He ignores me._

 _"Yes" My father says. "Perhaps Clary can show you around the school, and help you find your classes" My father suggests. My eye twitches._

 _"I'd rather not." I express quickly. "I'm sure Isabelle would love to show him around." I mention hesitantly. Isabelle would in fact like to avoid socializing with new students at all costs, because she deems them "inexperienced", but she would also be very curious about who my father is considering marrying me to, once I inform her he is considering marrying me to anyone at all._

 _"Who's Isabelle?" He questions ignorantly._

 _"A friend" I answer vaguely. Not showcasing the fact she is basically my sister. We sit in an awkward silence for a few seconds, with Sebastian openly staring at me. Just when I begin to become uncomfortable my father breaks the silence._

 _"Clary" My father speaks. He is pretending as though an idea just popped into his head. "Why don't you show Sebastian the garden?" The grinding of my teeth is the only thing hinting at my irritation. I give a tight smile and a nod, so my voice doesn't betray me, and motion for Sebastian to follow me outside. He does, and together we head out of the back-door onto the stone path. I point out the different flowers, and talk about school, but my heart isn't really in it. I see our old iron bench and take a seat. The sun is setting, and because the bench is facing west we have a perfect view of the sky's display. The oranges blending into the yellows, the purples seeping into the blues, all of the colors slowly transforming into a dark, rich indigo. I desperately wish I had my paints with me. I let out a sigh, and allow my self to relax for the first time today, ignoring the fact that Sebastian is beside me. I think about the break coming up this weekend, and the art display tomorrow. I think about Isabelle and her parents, I can tell she doesn't feel fondly towards her dad, but why is none of my business. I imagine Ms. Farlow handing me the certificate tomorrow, the crowd bursting into applause, and-_

 _I'm jerked from my thoughts, when Sebastian wraps his arm securely around my shoulders._

 _I freeze._

 _Strike two: Invading my space_

 _I reach for his hand and firmly remove it from my shoulders. I don't want this to progress any farther than it should, so I move to stand, but before I can get back on my feet he begins speaking._

 _"I'm so sorry." He starts frantically. I frown, because the way he snaked his arm around me made it seem as though he knew exactly what might happen. It was quick, and demanding, like a stolen kiss. He knew I might pull away. And he didn't care._

 _"I really am." He continues. "I get it. You are a strong independent woman, you just met me and you have to take it slowly. I respect that." He says his voice soft, kind, and gentle. My jaw drops. No one has ever said anything like this to me before. I didn't know it was physically possible to refuse to get married and be successful until I enrolled in the academy. The fact that the first person to encourage me to be independent is a boy, who I was previously determined to stay away from, is astonishing. I look him in the eyes too see if he is sincere, and I notice he isn't finished talking. I decide to allow him to finish speaking, and I relax back into the seat._

 _"You are strong, smart, and very talented according to your father." He states sweetly. I begin to feel a grin spreading across my face. "I can tell you are working hard to accomplish your dreams. That is quite a feat, and I know that must be hard for you" He adds. "But once you are my wife you will not have to worry about these things. I will take care of you, and tend to your every need." **What?** He must see something in my expression, that tells him I'm going to leave ASAP, because his hands, that were previously on his lap are now griping my shoulders, and his fingers are digging into my flesh. I turn to stone, shocked. He was complementing me a few seconds ago, but now his once friendly attitude has disappeared and now his stance, expression, and position all seem threatening. I attempt to yank myself from his grasp, but he is relentless. He meets my eyes and starts speaking._

 _"All I will ask in return is that you follow my every command." He states simply. I gape at him in utter shock. Screaming or calling for help cross my mind, but I realize they couldn't hear me through the thick walls of the house from this distance. He digs his fingers in farther, drawing blood._

 _I let out a yelp. He scowls, and_ _leans forward and whispers._

 _"Firstly I would appreciate, if you kept your mouth shut in my presence. Understood?" This demand is what finally snaps me out of my stupor. Who does he think he is? I try to suddenly stand up, but he anticipates it, and shoves me back down with incredible force. It slowly starts to sink in that I'm trapped. I force myself to remain calm. I decide to keep him talking until I have a solution._

 _"What will you do if I don't?" I question, because I am honestly curious as to how exactly he plans on forcing me to follow his commands. He smirks._

 _"What's the fun in telling you?" He asks innocently. I stare at him for a long moment trying to determine if his threats are empty. I still haven't conceived a plan, and I'm confident he'll release me after I answer him. So..._

 _"I understand" I say quietly._

 _"Good" He says smiling triumphantly, and he releases me._

 _Strike three...billion: Threatening, harming, and restraining me, not to mention he assumes he is still going to marry me._

 _"Well" He declares. "I think we should be heading inside now" He gives me a sickeningly sweet smile, and heads back down the path leaving me frozen in shock on the bench and...scared. Before he is out of my sight I get a glimpse of a blade beneath his waistcoat._

 _After I tended to the wounds on my shoulders and changed my shirt, I talked minimally for the remaining time he was there._

 _-End of Flashback-_

My father turns to me. I've hardly touched my food, and I haven't said anything throughout dinner.

"Are you all right my dear?" My father asks, concerned.

A beat.

"I didn't like him." Is all I say, and I stand, clear my plate, and leave the room. I could tell him what happened with Sebastian, but I know he wouldn't believe me.

* * *

 **Alauna's Perspective**

* * *

 _"Alauna darling, come here."_

Several heads turn in my direction, including my father's. I stand still, momentarily confused until I realize he is asking me to join him, most likely to meet his wife-to-be. I glance at Malaya, but she is staring intently at the floor, so I start to walk towards my father's throne. He is smiling manically, and his insane demeanor is making me more hesitant to come near him, but I urge my legs to move towards him anyways. I notice a few confused and shocked glances out of the corner of my eye, but I just ignore them and continue walking. Once I reach his throne I turn towards the crowd, expecting his chosen woman to reveal herself eventually, but instead my father comes to stand beside me and laces his fingers through mine. He gestures towards me and announces excitedly to the crowd.

"My new wife!"

Silence.

I don't need to look at the crowd to know they are shocked, but my brain seems to be processing what my father said painstakingly slowly, so I look out at the crowd expecting some woman to emerge.

Nothing.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I stumble away from him.

He motions towards the hopelessly silent mass. "How about a round of applause for my daughter?" A few idiots clap politely, but I simply turn to my father.

"Father have you taken ill?" I demand bluntly, the pitch of my voice rising. I take another shaky step back from him, the room suddenly seems too small.

"No dear, I've never felt better." He replies with a chuckle. Upon seeing my expression he starts to try to defend himself. "I am simply following your mother's final wishes. You are the only one as beautiful as her." He speaks quickly and softly, as if this makes all the sense in the world. I just stare.

"I cannot marry you father!" I burst out. "You are my Father, the man who raised me, not a suitor. I refuse to wed you, it is disgraceful, repulsive, and absolutely inappropriate!" I shout at him. "And this is **not** what mum would have wanted!" I add. Trying to convey to him that this cannot happen. I am supposed to marry a young man of my choice, who will care for me and respect me as anyone should. I have no doubt my father will do those things, but I could never raise a family. This would be the end of the royal line, and I know we would be ridiculed and ostracized. We would lose some of our military allies and lose many friends. This is all without considering the fact that. I don't want to marry him. I wouldn't want to marry the king I know, so certainly not the one that has been recently revealed to me. The fact that he is even considering this is ridiculous, and terrifying. I'm beginning to feel as though my mother's death has taken a harder blow to him than I thought. I hardly recognize him. I don't know what he is capable of anymore, and I don't want to find out. I-I can't let him do this.

"Well you don't have much of a say in it now do you darling?" He remarks condescendingly, painfully reminding me that he is king, and he can do whatever he pleases, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop him.

I look helplessly towards the crowd hoping, praying someone will speak up and tell him this is not right, that he can't do this. No one speaks. I turn back to my father, and as their silence continues I can see his resolve hardening like cement. Who am I kidding? No one would speak up to the king, who could have them executed with a flick of his wrist. No one would risk their life for this. The room seems to shrink around me. People suddenly seem to close, too many, the door too far. I start to feel trapped, and I know I need to get outside before I have a panic attack right here and now. This is too much. My mother's death and now this?

I stumble down the steps leading to my father's throne, hike up my skirts, and push my way through clusters of people, racing out the door, down the grand hall, and into the cool night air. Still in my red ballgown I rush to the stables. When I arrive at Buttercup's stall, I rip off my tiara, open the gate, and climb onto Buttercup's back. I dig my heels into her belly, and she races off. I don't know where I'm going, but I just close my eyes feel the wind running through my hair and lifting up my skirt, gently carrying away my tears, and Buttercup and I ride off together under the night sky.

0o0o0o0o0o

I need a rest.

We have been galloping through the trees for a couple of hours now, and Buttercup has been running nonstop. She needs a rest. I remember a stream down by the treehouse Malaya and I used to play in. It's near border of the woods, but I don't care. I steer my horse in the direction we need to start heading and after about ten minutes we reach our destination. I slide off of Buttercup's back, and guide her to the stream. After she has drank her fill I slap her bottom, and she goes bounding back towards the stables where someone will likely be there to feed and clean her. I climb our flimsy rope ladder and hoist myself up into the small room. I glance around. Nothing has changed.

There are drawings pinned along the walls, makeup snuck from my mother's vanity strewn across our tiny wooden table, along with jewelry, shoes, and anything else we could smuggle up here. The moonlight is steaming through the window giving everything a silvery glow. Some of our favorite gowns are hanging neatly from hooks, and some are thrown haphazardly around the room. In a small corner of the room spread about are blankets, and pillows, which we brought up to sleep on during our frequent sleepovers. Only then late into the night staring at those pillows do I realize how utterly exhausted I am. The bottom of my dress is caked in mud and grass, my shoes are battered, my hair is unruly, and I have plenty of small cuts from overhanging branches I didn't dodge in time. I yank off my shoes and collapse onto the pile of pillows, and fall asleep gazing up at the full moon.

I awaken to someone roughly shaking me by the shoulders.

My eyes snap open to see Malaya standing above me. She has exchanged her ballgown for brown trousers, combat boots, and a flowing white riding shirt. Her hair is now wild and frizzy with a few strands plastered to her face from sweat. She has an exasperated expression across her face. Once she sees I'm awake she stops shaking me. I sit up, and she stoops down so we are at eye level...and she envelops me in a hug. There's only a moment of confusion before I hug her back. We sit there like that, wrapped around in each other in a peaceful silence for a few minutes before we release each other, and Malaya eases herself down in front of me and gives me a quick once-over.

"Are you alright?" She asks. The memory of the previous night comes crashing down on top of me like a tsunami.

I shake my head.

She gives me an empathetic look, and reaches for my hand to comfort me. I give her a weak smile, and she launches into an explanation as to how she found me here, and what happened after I fled the ballroom.

"After you left, everyone was still a bit shocked, but the guards snapped to attention and went to retrieve you, because you left without the king dismissing you. Your father told them to let you go and that you would eventually return to the castle. He then encouraged everyone to continue the festivities and that you would soon be back to greet whatever royals we missed." She pauses as if to make sure I am not about have a mental breakdown, and upon seeing I am still okay she continues. "I knew you weren't coming back anytime soon, but no one else seemed to grasp how upset you were so they started to complain. Apparently a few young men you met that night were upset you had not returned, and complained to the king. He sent guards out to search for you, and they didn't return until the ball was over, when they did return-empty handed- your father sent out search parties. I was starting to get worried also, and I changed and went searching. It took me a few hours before I thought to search here." She looks out the treehouse's only window. The sun basking her in a warm glow. "When Buttercup came back to the stables _alone,_ and when I found your tiara I was so worried." I can't see her face that well, but I can hear the pain in her voice. I want to reach out and comfort her, but she stands before I have the chance. "Well the search parties are still out, so we'd better get moving." I frown. I'm confused, why do we need to leave?

"We're not hiding from them, right?" I ask her.

"No, but.." She hesitates, as though she's choosing her words carefully. "You never know when we might need to come here again." She finishes.

"Oh." I say in response. She reaches for my hand, I grasp hers, and she pulls me up. I quickly slip on my shoes, and we descend the rope ladder together. Once we reach the bottom she turns to me and looks me directly in the eyes.

"Are you ready?" She asks kindly. I think about my father waiting for me, the impending marriage, and my moth-no. I need focus on the task at hand: avoiding the search parties. I suck in as much air as my lungs can hold, and turn to my best friend. I nod.

"I'm ready"

* * *

 **Hello fellow readers,**

 **I apologize for all of the short chapters, I'll try to make the next one longer. Again please leave a review I appreciate any feedback, also please follow me so you can find out when new chapters are posted. I would appreciate that soooo much.**

 **Lastly thank you so much for reading! :-)**

 **-Darkling Princess**


	4. Speak Wisely

**Hello fellow fanfictioners,**

 **I am very sorry for taking so long to publish, and I apologize. But here it is chapter four! I call it chapter three, because that first chapter was...not very well thought through, and lacking a plot. Never fear there will be no more of _those._**

 **Anyways please enjoy.**

* * *

 **Clary's Perspective**

* * *

 _"When will this end?"_

 _Is all I can think as I sit glued to my desk, as the teacher sits diligently grading the papers we brought in this morning. The sun is playing a game of hide-and seek behind the clouds, and currently casting a gray light over the classroom, making the morning even more dull and boring. For my overactive eight-year-old brain this was absolute torture, but alas I forced myself to sit still and finish my test on fractions, which is actually really easy. Apparently it is not so simple for the rest of the class. I complete the final problem and drop my pencil to fish out my sketchbook and pastels. I am in the process of making my father a birthday gift. It is a portrait of him and I at the park playing marco-polo._

 _I am in the middle of drawing loopy green fluff on my spindly little branches to portray leaves, when the paper is ripped out from under my hands, leaving a long green smear across the paper from the pastel in my hands, causing me to jump. I glance up at whoever just caused me to ruin my drawing for my father, and I see my teacher looming over me with an irritated look across her face. She slaps her hand down on the table with enough force to make me flinch. She begins speaking in a scary-calm voice that I have only ever heard my father use, when I spilt tomato soup over one of his prized books. She asks._

 _"Why aren't you writing your test?" I look down at my facedown paper, and back up at her. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into an incredibly tight bun, and she has a pair of spectacles perched at the edge of her witch-like nose. She is tightly clutching my picture in her hand, and she is standing over me in what must be the most condescending way possible, and well she's...terrifying. It suddenly clicks in my mind that she thinks I was drawing instead of completing my test, which of course wasn't the case. I open my mouth to explain this to her, but before I can utter a word she wrenches me out of my seat and points to the door. My arm hurts from where she grabbed me, but I don't say anything about it. I realize she wants me to leave the room quietly so we can talk outside, and the other kids can focus on their tests. I quietly walk towards the door, and she follows me out. Once we are in the hallway she begins to speak._

 _"You, young lady are in class, and I expect you to understand that. I asked the entire class to study, and complete this test, but someone thinks this doesn't apply to them." She pauses and holds up my crumpled artwork. She looks as though she is about to scold me further, but she stops herself. She and I simply stand there in a tense silence, that I dare not break. I can see emotion warring behind her eyes, but after a moment she just sighs, and looks at me. "This is for art class, not for math class, but...you know what?" She asks me, abandoning her weak attempt to reprimand me. Even at eight I understand what a rhetorical question is, and honestly I'm kind of scared to answer. "This doesn't matter. Because no matter how smart, accomplished, or wealthy you are you are still going to meet someone who is going to make you fall in love with him-" She says longingly. For a second I relax thinking she has calmed down...and then her face contorts with rage, and her eyes take a slightly crazed look, as she says "and then leave you for someone prettier and younger, who has a richer father, longer hair, lovely voice, and the intelligence capacity of a five-year-old." I simply gape at her. She looks distraught, and despite her bipolar emotions has somehow maintained her scary-calm demeanor. She stopped looking directly at me after she finished scolding me about the test. Now she focuses on me. "But you have a rich father." She states thoughtfully but at the same time deadly serious. "You have long hair, you apparently don't care about school, and...you're pretty." I give her a reluctant smile at the complement, and she bends down over me, like a lion stooping over it's prey right before it tears into it. She reaches for a lock of my hair, and plays with a it. I simply watch her, all previous thoughts of giving her my explanation forgotten. She looks at me with an expression I can't identify. "You have red hair just like **her**..." Her voice trails off. Then without warning she yanks it...hard._

 _0o0o0o0o0o_

I am torn away from my reliving of this painful memory, by a knock on the door. I glance up from where I lay on my bed, hunched over my drawing. "Come in." I call out turning back to my sketch of a pencil. I was trying to make the picture as realistic as possible, and it honestly looks like I could reach down, and pick it up. I give myself a mental pat on the back. My door opens a crack, and my father peeks in.

"Breakfast is almost ready." He informs me, glancing around the room. I blush a bit from embarrassment, as I follow his gaze, because my room is still in the state it was in when I finished the painting for the art competition. My easel is set up by the window seat atop the rags I had strewn across the floor to ensure no paint stained the polished hardwood. The wooden easel is splattered with paint like the rags, and my chest, which I keep my art supplies in is totally unorganized, and has some of its contents spilled out onto the floor. My bed is unmade, my adjoining bathroom is in total disarray with water spilt in random places, wet soap laying about, and a bit of medical supplies I used to clean the punctures in my shoulders. I look back to my dad, and give him a small smile.

"I'll be down once I tidy up a bit." I respond. He gives me an understanding nod, shuts my door, and heads downstairs.

I take my room bit by bit, and by the time I head downstairs I can smell breakfast.

I reach the ground floor just in time to see my father setting two plates of bacon and eggs on the table. He is humming a song I've never heard under his breath, and has a towel tossed over his shoulder. He seems happy.

I think back to that time in second grade, when that teacher just started abusing me in the halls, and it wasn't until I had screamed on and off for about two minutes straight that anyone came to help me. I remember I had sustained a sprained wrist, several bruises on my torso, a few missing strands of hair, and a newfound fear of strangers. I also remember the principal telling my father what I had told her happened, and him refusing to press charges, because he didn't believe that something like that could happen in this prestigious school, better yet to _his_ daughter. He misunderstood the severity of the situation, and had acted naïvely in response. I didn't understand what was going on, as far as the legality of the situation, but I did understand two things: Some lady was mean and hurt me, and she wasn't going to get in trouble because of my father. I can't say I totally entrusted him with all of the knowledge of my personal life after that, and actually told him very little. Looking at him now, I can see how that was a mistake. He only wants the best for me.

As he is setting the glasses on the table he pauses as if sensing my presence. He turns in my direction, and gives me a loving smile, I respond with one of my own, and I ponder the day before. Sebastian honestly scares me, although I would never outwardly admit it, and there is no way-arranged or not-that I will ever marry him. The few hours I spent with him already have me never wanting to encounter him again. I need my father to understand that, and I regret not telling him sooner. Even if he doesn't believe me I have these, otherwise unexplainable puncture wounds, to back me up. I make my way over to the table, and sit down. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can get a word out my father begins talking.

"How'd you sleep?" He asks.

"Good, but there's something I wanted to talk to you about." I begin. "It's about Sebastian, he-"

"Oh, I know." He cuts me off, giving me an empathetic smile. I frown.

I am thoroughly confused.

"What-what do you mean...'you know'?" I manage, because if he knew then...why are we not having an entirely different conversation?

"Sebastian explained to me that, he believes he may have done something to offend you." He clarifies, as he bites into a strip of bacon. "He said you may a bit upset over what happened, and-"

"What exactly do you think happened." I interrupt. Some of the irritation and outrage I'm feeling edging it's way into my voice. I can't believe that-prick would downplay what he did _so m_ _uch_ , and have the nerve to go out of his way to basically lie to my father. My father seems surprised by my anger, and he frowns.

"Well, I don't know exactly what happened, but-"

"My point _exactly._ " I state, my voice coming out harsher, and louder than I meant it to. I don't mean to take out my anger with my father, who would know exactly what happened had I used 1% of my brain yesterday. I just feel so furious, and not only with Sebastian-although mostly with him-but with my father, who apparently didn't even think to get my side of the story, but you bet he's going to now. "You _don't_ know what happened, and you honestly never thought to ask me? What happened was he-"

 _Knock, knock, knock._

My father looks at me sympathetically "Hold that thought." He says, as he goes to answer the door. As he leaves the room, I throw my hands up in exasperation, and decide to eat some food before I plunge into this inevitably long conversation. I start to hear my father's footsteps walking back into the dining room, and someone else's. I twist around in my seat to greet the newcomer, and see a man I've never met before walking through the doorway. He's wearing a tweed suit, and has dark hair with numerous gray streaks running through. He sends an awkward smile my way, which I don't return, instead turning to look at my father to find him...beaming.

"Clary, I'd like you to meet Mr. Starkweather" He says as he motion towards the man. All I give him is a nod of acknowledgement, and a tight lipped smile, then I turn to my father, but before I can ask him why he looks like a child on Christmas morning he starts talking again. "I'm so sorry dear, but I really need to go. You know I wouldn't be leaving if it wasn't important." He says sincerely, as he kisses my forehead. I sigh in frustration, but it is not impertinent that I tell him now, so I give him quick smile before he turns to leave. I open my mouth to tell him by as he opens the front door, but once again I can't get a word out as he begins talking again.

"I'll be at the school in time for your art show. We can finish talking later." He assures me. "Oh, and Sebastian is coming back to have dinner with us again after the contest" The smile drops off of my face as he closes the door.

"But, Dad-"

 _Click_

I let a huff of frustration, and consider running out after him, before an idea pops into my head, lightening my mood. I grab my bag, and hurry out the door without even clearing the table. Time to pay Isabelle a visit.

* * *

 **Alauna's Perspective**

* * *

A-b-o-m-i-n-a-b-l-e:

 _Repugnantly hateful detestable-_ Pretty much how I feel, towards this marriage.

 _Very unpleasant, Disagreeable-_ My father

 _Very bad, poor, or inferior-_ His decision

Abominable is my word of the day. I have a feeling I'll be using it a lot more now.

As I trudge through the forest with Malaya I have hundreds of different thoughts rushing through my head, and I try to slow them down, but when I do I just want to start running in the direction opposite of the Castle, because I just feel so overwhelmed.

My father wants to marry me.

I knew he did before, but now it's sinking in.

My _father_ wants to marry _me._

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down.

I was closer to my father than my mother, because while he had a more demanding lifestyle, she was more of a socialite, and was at some party or social event more often than not. And Even though my father loved my mother like the sun itself, we were still very close. He would ride with me in the woods, as I told him about how much one of the children of a visiting royal was irritating me. He would comment on my art, analyze my fighting techniques, practice plays and duets with me, and he was the one who encouraged me to do what I love. I'm not saying he was perfect, no, but he was _my father_ he was perfect-for me. He had some interesting opinions. We had many debates on different topics, but he never...he _never_ so much as hinted at this sort of behavior. It's so sudden, and out of the blue, and so, so horrifying, and worse, I can't see how there's anything I can do about the situation. It's like a dark, heavy blanket is slowly being laid atop me, suffocating me, and no one is there to rip it off. I feel so helpless.

As different thoughts are racing through the forefront of my mind, each one worse than the last, I forget to watch my step. My foot gets hooked under a root, and I get yanked off balance. I would've hit the ground hard if Malaya didn't catch me. I stumble a bit before righting myself. Malaya looks at me concerned.

"Are you hurt?" She asks me gently.

I glance down at my foot. It's sore I may have twisted it a bit in the wrong direction, but I'm not limping.

"Not really." I answer back.

She stares at me for a moment, then says. "What are you thinking about?"

I can tell she's worried about me, but I don't want to talk about it. At all. I attempt to change the topic.

"How is Sophie holding up?" I ask her. Sophie is our cook, she's not that much older than us, but any time there's a large gathering of people, who she must cook for, she will rant for days about how hard she worked, and _everything_ she endured. We often joke about it, because the things that irritate her are so outlandish or trivial, that we can't help but smile.

Malaya notices that I changed the subject, but doesn't comment on it. "Same as usual. I almost couldn't escape to go find you, she was so set on telling me how she ran out of cherries for a pie, and was forced to use small tomatoes." I crack a smile at that.

"Funny no one spoke of it." I comment.

"Yes. Funny." She locks eyes with me for moment, and then continues walking.

We walk in silence for a bit, each caught up in our own thoughts, and soon enough we reach the edge of the forest.

The gray stone towers of the castle sit gleaming in the sun, like one of the fairy tales my mother would read to me. I've always loved my castle, I've lived in it for sixteen years now, and I still don't know what's in all of the rooms, but I have never dreaded entering any threshold more than I dread entering my home right now. But Malaya trudges on so I inhale, and hesitantly follow after her.

I can't imagine what I must look like right now, all dirty and bedraggled, with leaves and dirt sprinkled atop my ballgown and hair. I silently pray that we don't stumble upon anyone before I can get cleaned up. Apparently whoever is up there watching over me has a sense of humor, because as soon as we reach the outskirts of the castle we run into a young man strolling through the courtyard within the castle walls. I try to keep my head down and hurry past him, but our proximity prevents that.

He glances up as we pass him, and I see that he's quite handsome. His skin in the morning light seems to take on a golden hue, a slightly lighter shade than his hair. His aureate eyes take in my appearance, and a smirk spreads across his lips. It is then that I notice the way he's carrying himself gives him an air of arrogance, and I know whatever is about to come out his mouth will be anything but polite.

"Well," He says. "I understand you don't want to marry your father, but having an affair with bushes wouldn't be my second choice."

I bristle a bit at the insult, but otherwise I am unbothered by his comment. I rack my brain for who he is and why he might be here, but I come up with nothing. He is utterly unfamiliar. The only thing I can deduce is that he is from Alicante, judging by his appearance. Nevertheless I gladly accept the distraction from entering the castle the stranger is providing me with, and temporarily ignore-what must be-my ghastly appearance. I lift my chin and stand a bit straighter, trying to give off an air of confidence.

"I can't imagine you'd have a second choice with a mouth like that." I retort. He raises an eyebrow.

"My mouth actually seems to be one of my strongest selling points."

"Because it can't be your winning personality."

I hear a snort from behind me. His mouth quirks.

He walks towards me, and extends his hand. "Jace Lightwood." I hesitate, but I believe he only means to be friendly. I reach out and grasp his hand.

"Princess Alauna Clark." I say looking him squarely in the eyes.

" _Alauna!_ "

 _Crap_

I turn to see my father standing on the landing for the steps leading up to the castle's entrance. Malaya and I exchange a glance, and I turn back to the golden-haired boy-Jace.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance Jace." I say politely.

He just nods, sends a wary look my father's way, and exits the courtyard.

I turn to confront my father.

* * *

 **Clary's Perspective**

* * *

"No. He. Didn't."

Isabelle sits at the other end of her queen sized bed, her nail polish forgotten. Her mouth is slightly ajar. I just finished telling her about the Sebastian situation, and I can't tell who that phrase was aimed at; Sebastian or my father. I nod solemnly, and turn to her as she goes to finish off her last nail.

"I need you to do me a favor-or two." I say. She looks at me warily, and says.

"If this has anything to do with interacting with 'the boogie man', the answer is probably no." She states firmly.

"How fast can you sew?" Is all I ask.

"It depends." She says. "Why? Do you need a body bag?"

I snort. "No. I want a dress, something that will take Sebastian's breath away." I say, watching her expression.

She frowns in confusion, and I watch as realization dawns on her. "Oh." She says, a smile slowly making it's way across her face. "Let's head down to the shop then." I smile at her as we grab our bags and leave the room. As I round the corner to the stairwell I run straight into a wall of human flesh, causing me to fall back on my butt. I silently curse my short stature, an look up to see a hand reaching down to help me up, and I grab it gratefully. I look up to see a dark skinned man. He has short spiky hair, and...a neon yellow glittery towel wrapped around his bottom half. That is when I first notice he is covered in small droplets of water, his hair is wet, and...he isn't wearing any clothes. I blush as this thought snakes it's way into my head. He gives me an apologetic smile.

"My bad, I didn't see you there biscuit" He says with a thick accent I don't recognize.

"It's fine." I assure him, as I smile back at him. I move past him and rush down the stairs to catch up with Isabelle. She's waiting by the door, when I reach the last step.

"I see you met Magnus" She comments.

"Magnus?" I inquire as she opens the door.

She shrugs. "A friend of my brother's."

We step outside, and are immediately met with fresh air and sunshine. I take a deep breath and Isabelle and I begin walking the four blocks that are between her shop and her house.

It's a beautiful day outside, and because it's about springtime all of the flora is lively and full of beauty. Even the manmade buildings and automobiles seem a little more marvelous, in the way only the warm soft rays of the sun can make them. A silky blue sky, uninterrupted by clouds, is spread across the kingdom. Brushes of Night-blooming Cereus-or Luna flowers as we call them-line the streets. They only bloom at night and only once a year. I have heard that sometimes dozens of flowers will bloom on the same night, but my father and I live in a secluded clearing in the forest, so when neighbors are waking each other up to come out, and observe the beautiful display, I stay in bed, because we have no neighbors. I never feel more disdain for my home than in those moments.

Our beautiful town is under the rule of King Roland III. He is know for his ruthlessness and drive. He is said to have killed his own brother, because he supposedly was in love with one of the servants. He keeps order in his kingdom through fear, and although he treats his subjects fairly well, he is in no way an honorable man. After his wife died of unknown causes, rumors have traveled about the mistreatment of the maids, but have never been proven. He keeps a tight hold on the people of his kingdom with guards constantly keeping watch over them-us. They can be overbearing, but never cruel...rarely cruel...usually not cruel...forget it.

I'm so absorbed in my surroundings, imagining exactly how I would plaster this moment onto a canvas, that I don't notice the man strolling out of a tavern until we collide. He only stumbles back a few steps while I am thrown on my backside, again. I look up, as Izzy helps me up, to see who I have run into, and I pale slightly upon seeing, who it is.

Samuel Blackwell.

Samuel Blackwell is the captain of the guard, and very close with the king. And so he has certain...privileges. Honestly he could probably murder someone, and not get so much as a fine. He is unfortunately stationed near my school, and I see more than enough of him. More often than not he is holding a bottle in his hand, but somehow is never flat out drunk. He has short rusty hair, and a towering figure. he has to be at least six-foot-five, and can probably lift a horse if he tried. In short, he is not the person you would want to run directly into, when they could be heavily intoxicated.

Just my luck.

Once Isabelle has helped me to my feet, she steps in front of me protectively, and looks Blackwell in the eyes.

"Hi." She says disdainfully, as she looks him up and down. She knows exactly who he is, and I know she's about to do something incredibly stupid. I tense behind her. I am fully prepared to shove her behind _me_ and redirect whatever conversation she'll try to start. I've done it before.

"I'm sorry my friend ran into you. She didn't mean to." She says flatly, expertly maintaining eye contact. "Right Clare?"

"Absolutely, I'm so sorr-"

"We'll just be on our way now." Isabelle has been staring at him the entire time, and barely acknowledging my presence. He has been purposely obstructing our path, and now she makes to move around him, but he moves too, blocking her path. I start to walk past him, but he grabs hold of my shoulder, irritating my little puncture wounds, causing me to wince, and successfully halting me. Isabelle slaps his arm so fast I almost miss it, but it's loud enough for me to cringe. "Don't. Touch. Her." Isabelle cocks her head a little to the side enunciating every word. Her hair shifts, revealing a birthmark on her neck, it catches his attention. Using this distraction, she grabs my wrist and shoulders her way past him. He grunts. I glance back to see that some people had watched this exchange, and Blackwell does not look happy about it.

My father and I have been lucky enough living here, to have stay on the captain of the guard's good side. People who he dislikes often find themselves miserable. My father made sure we were never those people. I have a sinking feeling that's about to change.

I turn to Isabelle. Maybe if we go back to apologize we can avoid any future unwanted conflict. One look at Isabelle tells me that is highly unlikely. I just link my arm through hers, and think on the positive side.

Isabelle is about to make me an amazing gown, just for Sebastian.

* * *

 **Alauna's Perspective**

* * *

My father and I sit at different ends of the room in the loft above the stables. It feels wrong to be here. This is were my father and I would go to talk without the formality of the throne room. There are many other places we probably could've chosen, but our love for horses put us both in mutual agreement that we would meet here, whenever I had something to tell him, or him me. Whenever we wanted to confide in each other, which was quite often, we would come here, the neighs of the horses hiding our whispers, the sturdy walls concealing us from wandering eyes. I remember how when I was talking excitedly about anything, he would smile as though he'd rather be doing nothing else. I remember how I would always look forward to our 'secret' meeting with anticipation, recalling everything I wished to tell him, the 'secret' path I would take to ensure no one saw me sneaking away. This is why I wish he would've chosen somewhere else to speak with me, there are too many good memories I have here, which I don't wish to be tainted.

We are sitting on the floor across from one another just as we used to before mother-died. I feel a pang of nostalgia that is quickly replaced with a half longing, half disdainful feeling. Things are not as they used to be, and probably never will be again.

I sit in one of the rickety wooden chair, playing with some hay I found laying around. I am staring intently at my hand to avoid my fathers gaze. I hear him give out an exasperated sigh.

"Alauna," I keep my eyes trained on the straw in my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I see him press his lips together. "Alauna, I know you're upset." I scoff. "But truly I believe this is for the best. It is what your mother would have wanted." I take a deep intentionally calming breath, and mentally count to ten. I have half the mind to leave, but I want to try again to convince him, although deep down I know his mind is set.

He sees my opinion is unchanging. "We can use the money that is saved-from not needing a dowry-to help the kingdom. You don't have to worry about some young man abusing the power of the throne. You'll be queen, and this saves you from having to marry some man you've never encountered-"

I send him a look that silences him. "This is worse." My voice is steady and quiet, like a stream of water in the quiet of a cavernous cave. I watch my words cut through him. A look of hurt flashes across his face. I feel the slight nudge of guilt, but I shove it away. He needs to understand. "A dowry is unnecessary, and if you really wanted to save money for the kingdom, you wouldn't have spent so much on mother's beauty products." My voice is gradually rising, but I take no notice. "I would kill my husband before I allowed _him_ to cause _my_ people pain." He raises his eyebrows in surprise. I have never spoke this fact aloud before, but I know in my heart it is true. "I have never so much as _eluded_ to the fact that I want to be queen, and I would certainly rather marry some unknown gentleman than be forcibly wed to my father." He opens his mouth at the word forcibly, but I cut him off. "I say 'forcibly' because the only way you'll get me to the alter is kicking and screaming." My voice has gotten louder, and more powerful, so by the time I'm finished speaking, I sound not unlike a preacher of some sort.

As my father's expression turn more grim and determined, an idea starts blossoming in my head.

"Well then I suppose that you'll just be drag-"

"Or-" I say, adding a dramatic pause. My suddenly evident exhaustion warping and slowing my thoughts. My mind completed my father's sentence for him. I know what he meant to say. I know if I do not come up with something immediately I will be forced to run away or marry him. The last thing I want to do is abandon my people. I interrupt him with the intention of saying _something_ that will sway his opinion, but the fact that I feel under pressure and anxious is causing my brain to freeze up, and makes what comes out of my mouth next very...imaginative? "You'll have to-" _Come on. Think._ "Make me a gown as...radiant as the sun." _What the heck?_ "A pair of culottes, which glow like a moon, A top that as marvelous as the stars, a bow as sleek and accurate as...a quill, and...a cloak with some of the fur of every animal in the kingdom on it."

I cringe inwardly at the preposterous requests, but add quickly. "Or I won't marry you." That was terrible. I highly doubt he'll ever follow those demands.

A beat.

"Alright." Still accepting the fact that my father would willingly drag me kicking and screaming down an isle to marry him, I don't immediately comprehend what he said.

"Excuse me?" I am practically gaping at him.

He looks solemn. "If these are your conditions, I will abide by them as a _courtesy ._ " The corner of my mouth curves upward in a half smile.

"Truly?" I ask for final confirmation, ignoring his tone of voice when he said 'courtesy'.

We lock eyes for a moment. He must see something in my face, because his mouth quirks a bit.

He nods.

My face breaks into a grin. I refrain from embracing my father and smacking him, and rush out of the room, hurrying down the ladder to relay the conversation to Malaya.

I'm never going to marry my father.

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 **Thank you so much for reading! I attempted to make this chapter longer, so I hope you liked it. For those who are wondering, Alicante and Idris-in this story are two separate places. Please leave a review, I would appreciate it _so_ much. It really does help. Thank you to those of you who have followed me it really means a lot, and I'll try to publish the next chapter sooner.**

 **Until the next chapter**

 **-Darkling Princess**


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